


No Spoken Victory

by cjtheshort



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Clint is Great at Things, First Kiss, M/M, Skirt Wearing Bruce, Skirt!Bruce, What am I doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 14:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjtheshort/pseuds/cjtheshort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce wears pleated skirts, Clint wears sweatshirts, they both get into shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Spoken Victory

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one sitting. That means I didn't edit it twice like I usually do.  
> I just wanted to post something to show I'm still alive. (even if it is slightly crack)  
> This is part of some little drabbles I work on when I can, like in the car or waiting at the doctor's so there's lots of them and they're all in the same universe and I may get around to post them too, so. Stay tuned.

"Clint, really, come on." Bruce sighed softly, watching as the other boy continued to try luring the sparrow into his hands. It felt like this had been going on all day, only because they got to the park when the sun was up but now it was almost completely tucked away behind he trees.

"No, no, watch, you'll see, I'm great at birds." Clint whispered softly, shuffling his crouched position closer to the sparrow that tilted its head this way and that before hoping back from Clint.

"'Great at birds'? Can you be great at a noun?" Bruce asked, tucking his hands into his hoodie pockets as the September cool started setting in.

"You can be great at job." Clint insisted softly, taking another step closer.

"You can be great at _a_ job. You can be great at _your_ job. But not great at job." Bruce said, watching as Clint got into position before he launched at the bird, only ending up on his belly with bird seed all over himself as the bird jumped into the air and flew off. "You're much good at bird."

"Shut up, Bruce." Clint huffed, no bite to his words as he sat up and dusted the grass and seeds off his sweatshirt. "Or you're gonna be much good at bike." He threatened, standing up and stretching his arms over his head.

"I can't peddle the bike." Bruce said, following him through the playground over to the rusted bike rack, but not before he had to stop to let Clint climb up the slide.

"Why? Not fit for a lady?" Clint teased, making Bruce look down at his dark purple pleated skirt over his supposed-to-be-skinny jeans.

"No, your ass is too fat for my tiny legs." Bruce said, trying to sound mean but a smile crept up anyways.

"Hey!" Clint called out before he slowly made his slide down, finger pointed at Bruce the entire time so he could poke him in the nose when he stood. "I'm thick, not fat."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Clint, you're not fat. At all. You hardly have any body fat. You're 100 percent muscle."

"Nuh-huh." Clint said, lifting up his sweatshirt and T-shirt to show his stomach. His abs weren't as defined as they had been during the summer, probably because Bruce was feeding him his leftover dinners that his aunt packed, which were usually spaghetti or steak or something fatty and starchy. "I got my winter cover on. See? Hibernation gear."

"Yeah, put your shirt down before you get arrest for flashing." Bruce said, looking away and hoping the fading sunlight hid the blush on his cheeks. "You're still not anywhere near fat. Especially not for hibernation." He had to keep himself from rambling as they walked to the bike.

"Oh yeah? How heavy I gotta be to sleep for three months?" Clint asked, swinging his leg over the bike and holding it still for Bruce to hop on.

"Hmmm....four hundred pounds." Bruce guessed, not caring to do the math.

"Awesome. Four hundred pound it is." Clint nodded as he pushed off, making Bruce scoff. "You wanna swing by the Fair 'N' Square, get some Baby Ruths to start me off?"

"You're really going to put on four hundred pounds?" Bruce asked, turning back to look him, his blonde hair lit up purple and pink from the sunset.

"Yup." Clint nodded once. "Four hundred pounds in two months."

"That's impossible for one and two, that's going to be 'hella' expensive." Bruce sighed.

"Ha! You said hella, you said hella." Clint called in a sing-song voice. "That was all I wanted. But we are swinging by the F'N'S, half priced slushies after five."

Bruce groaned softly, already predicting the future. Clint was going to get the MEGA Gulp, spill half of it on himself, tell Bruce he was too 'slushed out' to drive home, then fall off the handle bars and make a huge scene over 't-tell Tony...he's a lil' bitch...' before coughing out his final breath and 'dying' until Bruce did 'CPR' on him which consisted of Bruce half-heatedly slapping at his chest and then putting his hand over his mouth and nose so he couldn't breathe.

Once they stopped at the gas station, Bruce hoped down and adjusted his skirt while Clint fiddled with his rusted kickstand. There was a sharp 'click' followed by 'aww, kickstand'. "Broke it?" Bruce asked, looking over his shoulder at Clint, who held it in his hand and sighed.

"Yeah. No way to fix it neither." He let it fall from his hand and clatter against the asphalt. "Oh well, just gotta start throwing it down." Clint shrugged before holding the advertisement plastered door open for him.

"Bruce! So good to see you!" James Rivera smiled at him from behind the counter. "Clint." He gave the other boy a curt nod, twinkling brown eyes going back to Bruce. James dated his mom in high school, before she moved away from this tiny town and to New Mexico where she met Brian. He was close friends with Bruce's Uncle Morris, and both of them had something against Clint, but James' beef really lied with Barney. Sins of the brother, he supposed. "What can I get you?"

"We were just going to get two slushies." Bruce shrugged as Clint walked past him.

"Half price after five! It's seven!" Clint called, knowing James would try to charge him the full two bucks rather than just the one. The hispanic man gave him a glare before nodding for Bruce to join him. No point in trying to tear them apart. It wouldn't work, not even for a second of distraction.

Bruce went for the Sour Apple Green, Clint for the Purple Punch, as usual. He did in fact get the MEGA Gulp, so Bruce started mentally preparing himself not to get too upset over his antics. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy them, it was just that if Clint kept bringing him home late, Aunt Elaine was going to insist Uncle Morris do something about them boys. Which, meant Jennifer would be elected Bruce Wrangler and get paid extra allowance to make sure he never left her sight to go hang out with Clint.

"Bruce, make sure you get home early." James warned him as he rung them up, glancing up at Clint for a second. "You're worryin' your uncle."

"Tell him I don't mean to." Bruce gave a polite smile as he picked up his slushie. Clint held the door for him again and James followed after them to lock the door and turn off a few of the lights further in the shop. That was right, it was Saturday, James closed up early. "You sure it's not too cold for these?" Bruce asked as he sat on the side walk next to Clint.

"You're gonna ask that now?" Clint arched a brow as he sucked on his straw. Bruce just shrugged, sipping on his Sour Apple and watching the neon signs in the Chinese food window across the street. The soft buzz of the florescent above them, bathing them in its steady glow, the cool air around them, the ache in his bones from following Clint everywhere through the little park. The empty parking lot before them, then the empty road, then another empty parking lot, making him feel oddly suspended in time. Suspended in forever, with Clint.

No curfew could pull them apart.

"They need to change that name." Clint said softly, making Bruce look to him. "Dong's." He motioned to the restaurant across the street. "It's terrible."

"Well, the guy who owns it, his last name is Dong." Bruce pointed out, setting his freezing cold drink down between his feet.

"Oh great, like I want Old Man Dong to serve me." Clint rolled his eyes, making Bruce give a breathy chuckle. "And what if it goes into a chain? Everyone will be eating Old Man Dong's!" This time Bruce couldn't help it, falling into a fit of snorts and giggles as he tried to stop. It was stupid, really, really stupid but for some reason he just couldn't stop laughing. He fell onto his side, curling into a ball as he tried to stop, making Clint lean over him, repeating 'breathe, buddy, c'mon, breathe' until he was just coughing out soft chuckles. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the dread that he'd never see Clint again. Either Barney was going to pack up with him in the middle of the night, or Uncle Morris' Law was going to take place.

"Sorry." Bruce apologized softly, looking up at the boy leaning over him. He wanted to explain further that he was tired, that the new anti-psychotics were messing with him, that he was just being stupid but all he could think of was how the lights hanging over head lit Clint's golden hair up like a halo. "You look really holy." He whispered out, for some reason.

"Holy, huh?" Clint whispered back, arching a brow. "Not the worst insult I've ever gotten." He shrugged, those steel blue eyes never leaving Bruce's wood brown.

Bruce closed his eyes as a smile touched his lips. "Not an-" He started, moving to sit up but was cut off with the soft touch of chapped lips against his. He opened his eyes to see Clint still leaning over him, eyes nervous and expectant. Bruce started back at him for a few tense beats before he pressed his lips against Clint's, wrapping his thin arms around his neck to pull him down.

At first, it was soft, just the chaste press of lips, testing the waters, Bruce waiting for Clint to start laughing and call him a homo before riding into the night, and Clint waiting for Bruce to shove him off and pull his rosary out. But neither happened. So the kiss grew deeper from gentle licks to Bruce understanding why it was called a 'make-out session'. When they finally parted, Bruce's glasses bad been knocked askew and smudge past quick repair and Clint looked like his hair hair a floor polished taken to it.

"...wow..." Bruce breathed out, not really finding any other words.

"Wow." Clint repeated back, smiling down at him before dipping down for another kiss.

"It's eight!" Bruce nearly shouted when he saw the time on the ticker sign outside of Dong's. He sat up faster than Clint could, knocking heads with him, making them both hiss in pain as Bruce tilted this way and Clint tilted that way so they wouldn't do it again. Unfortunately, Bruce rolled onto the pavement, and onto his melted Sour Apple slushie. "Ah! Great." He huffed, sitting up and trying to wipe it off of his hoodie and skirt.

"Don't worry about that, you were supposed to be home half an hour ago." Clint pulled him to his feet, hoping on the bike and pulling Bruce onto the handle bars. "Futz, Bruce, I ruined it." He whimpered out, peddling as fast as he could. Bruce's mind was racing as he tried to figure something out.

"Uh...uh, stop real quick, I have an idea." Bruce said, jumping off before Clint stopped all the way, hissing a little at the gravel in his hands but didn't brush them off, instead wiping his hands in his hair.

"Bruce, what the hell are you doin'?" Clint asked, his tone impatient and hurried.

"I'm beating myself up." He shrugged, tearing the pleated skirt here and there, bending his glasses just so and giving himself a hard slap.

"What? Stop, why?" Clint got off his bike to kneel next to him and Bruce immediately starting pulling on the collar of his sweatshirt, making it look like someone held him up by it.

"So you can be a hero and I can have an excuse." Bruce answered, rubbing his palm hard into Clint's nose, making it red and maybe a little more believable that they had been in a fight. "You already have a bruise on your forehead, don't need anymore."

"Yeah, but so do you." Clint pointed. "We can't have the same bruises. Somethin's up."

"...They made us headbutt each other." Bruce dismissed, rubbing gravel into Clint's knuckles.

"Who made us?" He asked, not complaining about the damage to his hand.

"Out of towners, saw me in a skirt, bigotry in-sued." Bruce said, standing him and Clint back up. "Pretty believable, right? Bite into you lip so it doesn't look like I did." He pecked him on the cheek before Clint got back on the bike.

By the time they reached the townhouse, James and a few neighbors were gathered in the yard with Aunt Elaine tucked under Uncle Morris' arm, Jennifer shuffling foot to foot.

"There they are!" Someone called and everyone turned to look at the two boys riding up, Clint's stomach turning a little as he hoped the blood was convincing enough for a split lip.

"Are you boys okay?" Aunt Elaine ran over to them once they stopped in the yard and Bruce hoped down, his head hung but his shoulder straight.

"Yeah. Sorry we're late." He said softly as Aunt Elaine grabbed his shoulders.

"Honey, what happened? Look at me, who did this?" She combed her hair through Bruce's curls.

"No one." Bruce answered softly and Elaine looked to Clint. His time to shine.

"Don't know who they were. Out of town." Clint answered, hoping he was at least half as convincing at Bruce. That kid could lie. And it was hot.

"We were just, drinking our slushies when they pulled up for gas." Bruce shrugged, keeping his head down. "And...." His voice broke a little and Elaine pulled him to her chest.

"It's okay, Bruce, don't you worry about it, okay?" She soothed, rocking him side to side.

"Told James he needed to get those security cameras put in." Morris crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head before he looked to Clint. He couldn't help how his stomach turned frozen, like the first sip of a half priced slushie. Morris was as wide as he was tall, with a thick blonde beard and a thousand yard stare that could kill a man. "You see their faces?"

"No, sir." Clint quickly shook his head. "Just...jumped into action." God, his heart was beating out of his chest, he was going to into cardiac arrest and die right in Bruce's drive way.

Morris watched him for a second before stepping closer and resting a massive hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Clint. Maybe I was quick to judge you." He patted his shoulder to turn back to his daughter tightly hugging his nephew, asking him how terrified he was and how brave as Clint and did he kick their butts?

Clint just smiled inwardly, jumped on his bike and rode to his brother's motel room, knowing he'd never get to tell him this story, of kissing the sheriff's nephew and getting away with it.

 


End file.
